Just A Tech Guy
by xfirefly9x
Summary: Jake, Diane, Kyle. A collection of ficlets based on the characters from Jake 2.0.
1. Just A Tech Guy

**_Just A Tech Guy_**

He had the bad guy cornered in mere seconds and pinned to the wall moments after that. It was second nature. Look. See. React.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins from the chase and he grinned at the simple notion that this was _him_ doing this, him and the tiny machines, the nanites rushing through his bloodstream.

It still felt like the accident that had led to his new existence was just yesterday. It had in fact been almost six months ago. While he was quite used to the technology mapping his body it had not become any less exhilarating to feel it at work and every chance he was given to display his abilities was a chance he'd take – within reason, of course.

Muscles pumping. Lungs not quite burning but not entirely at rest either. Nanites whirring. He truly couldn't get enough of it. Disregarding the social implications it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He reached for the handbag clenched between his prisoners' fingers and inclined his head. "Stealing is wrong, you know," he said offhandedly. "Really." He flinched as a wad of saliva came his way and landed on his jacket pocket.

"And that," he added, scrunching up his nose, "was just gross."

He wrenched the bag free and held it out with one hand to the lady peering inquisitively over his shoulder. "There you go," he said with a grim smile.

The lady uttered a quick 'thanks' and hurried off.

He turned back to pierce the almost-thief with calculative brown eyes.

"If I catch you again," he started.

The guy nodded quickly. "Yeah, sure. Sorry."

He released his grip on the guy and grinned as he watched him speed away.

_fin._


	2. Transfer Complete

**_Transfer Complete_**

He runs.

It is a mixture of impulse and adrenaline and simple need that drives him. Not only is he unwelcome here (the two guards out front – now unconscious – are proof of that) but if he is found before he can intercept the data transfer being sent, a lot of people will be killed. Buildings will be destroyed and lives with be torn apart and he doesn't want that. He won't let it happen.

He comes to an abrupt halt, mere steps away from a door and swipes the ID card Kyle gave him over the security device installed. "Declined." He tries again. The three lights atop the panel glow red.

Throwing the card into a pocket, he instead focuses his mind on the lock. A flash of images pass through his mind as the nanites inside him to get to work and he fits the pieces together. The lights flash green. Finally.

He enters the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He can't have anyone walking in on him while he's doing this. Well, he can, but he knows enough that it's best he's alone. Easier. Less gunfire. He heads for the computer sitting rather exposed on an otherwise empty table in the middle of the room.

The message onscreen reads "Transfer 88% complete".

There's not much time.

He leans over the desk, fingers dancing over the keyboard in fluid strokes (like soft rain hammering on the roof) before he's even had a chance to sit down. The moment he does sit, he regrets it. The metal chair is the most uncomfortable thing he's ever sat on.

Ignoring the slight pain, he lets his mind travel once more to the mechanisms inside the computer. The feeling as he connects with it floods his senses. All he knows is the machine before him, its innermost workings and the wires and codes.

Codes.

They begin to rearrange before his eyes, numbers flickering on and off the screen. It is a painstaking minute of waiting and watching the door for any sign he's been caught before it's done. The code is accepted and it lets him onto the system.

The transfer is at 96% by this point. Almost done. He fiddles around some more until the digits stop flashing and is replaced by the words "Transfer cancelled".

He grins and stands up. His work here is done.

He reached for his radio and calls base. "We're good on my end," he says after reporting his code and codename. "How are things back there?"

Kyle responds. "We're all clear. Our guy's in custody." A pause. "Good job, Jake. Bring it in."

He turns off the radio and makes his way out.

As he leaves the complex, he grins to himself.

He has the best job in the world!

_fin._


	3. A Hit Of Inspiration

_**A Hit Of Inspiration**_

"Jake."

"Kyle."

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Hmmm?" Jake asks, glancing up. On seeing Kyle's expression, he blinks and shakes his head to clear his mind. "Oh, this."

"Yes, Jake. That."

"I've been working on the code to make the system more effective. I had a hit of inspiration last night. You know."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing that when you have paperwork to finish?"

Jake swallows, looks in both directions for an excuse to get up and run. There's nothing and no one to save him. "I…actually, I…"

"Get to it before Lou comes in."

"Right. Of course." It occurs to him to smile. "Thank you, Kyle."

"For what? Telling you to do your job?"

He shrugs and studies the stern features of his friend. "Something like that."

_fin._


	4. Another Night, Another Fight

**_Another Night, Another Fight_**

He didn't know who he, himself, was let alone the brunette who had just arrived in the back room of the club. He had a distinct feeling in his gut that he knew her somehow, but he just couldn't place it. Maybe she knew who he was and what he could do. Maybe he could trust her.

Or maybe she was one of them, trying to catch him and take him away.

She wasn't the most beautiful type, with a tangle of dark brown curls strewn around her shoulders and a pair of glasses perched tidily on her nose. She wasn't just of the 'average' type either. She was actually kind of cute in a way. No. Make that definitely cute.

And…was that recognition on her face? Or was it just his imagination?

Wait. Fear. That was fear.

Wha – ?

SLAP!

He returned his focus to the fight, forcing himself back in the mood as his opponent's fist collided with his jaw, emitting a loud, satisfying 'thwack!'

He picked himself up and energised by his thoughts returned the blow with three times the force.

The same heavy noise echoed and he watched triumphantly as the man fell, beaten, to the floor. It was oddly satisfying and he punched the air in victory.

Another win. Good. That meant two things: he'd get his money and keep the job for another night or so.

Yeah.

Good.

Without so much as another glance in the brunette's direction (she was probably just a decoy, a lure to trap him) he walked off the stadium, grabbed the offered towel and pushed his way through the crowd to leave.

This was his life now.

He couldn't afford to let random feelings about people who he may or may not have known before whatever had caused his memory loss to get in the way. He had to survive.

_fin._


End file.
